


basement noise

by horriblekids



Series: '03verse (trying too hard) [5]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 2003 AU, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horriblekids/pseuds/horriblekids
Summary: “You’re weirder than usual today,” Luke comments wryly.“Fuck off, I’m extremely normal,” Calum argues. “I’m super normal.”Another of Luke’s fingers slips under his wristband. “Definitely,” he says. “You’re first on my list of extremely normal people.” He’s smirking in that way that tells Calum he’s being made fun of. Calum hates that smirk. Kind of wants to kiss that stupid, bemused smirk right off Luke’s stupid, handsome face.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Calum Hood, Michael Clifford/Alex Gaskarth
Series: '03verse (trying too hard) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170044
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Hey. This is a bit of a different thing from me, right? Posting a thing in chapters instead of shoving the whole thing across the table at once like a shady drug deal? Anyway, I'll be posting chapters on Sundays and Thursdays. I suspect we'll probably end up around ~30 chapters? It's hard to say because a man doesn't _outline_ , here. But if you want to shout encouragement or bereavement or disbelief across the void at me, I'll be on [Tumblr](http://anxietycalling.tumblr.com) to freak out alongside you.

The first thing he notices - aside from the hangover - when he wakes up is his thighs, sticky with cum. Calum groans and pulls the covers up around his chin. It feels like someone pulled all the bones from his body and left them in the sun for too long. And then he thinks about the fact that he’s waking up naked somewhere unfamiliar and presses the palm of his left hand over his eyes, trying to remember. The smell in the sheets is hauntingly familiar. He can hear the shower running in the next room. 

Okay. Okay. He can figure this out and bail, if he can just get his shit together. Think. Who was he with last night? It was the last night of Warped. Michael had ditched them to hang out with Harry Fuckin’ Styles. Luke, holding a plastic cup and frowning sullenly. Luke, smoking cigarettes and pushing Calum around to block the wind while he lights up. 

Oh. Oh,  _ fuck _ . Suddenly the hangover isn’t the worst thing. Calum burrows further into the hotel bed, despairing of his life. The shower stops. He can hear Luke toweling off his hair, the stupid little dance to dry his back. (He’s not thinking about Luke naked. He’s not  _ not _ thinking about it, just. Fuck.) The bathroom door opens and Calum lies still, tense. Now that he’s fully awake and panicking about the situation he’s aware of the dull ache in his ass, that sweetly-used feeling.  _ Jesus, Calum _ , he thinks to himself, and tries to pretend to be asleep. 

(He’s not thinking about Luke’s fingers in his ass. Because  _ jesusfuckingchrist _ . Just the thought of it makes him feel squirmy and twisty and hot.)

“Morning,” Luke says, voice hoarse and wrecked. His fingers glide through Calum’s hair, twist, pull. Involuntarily, Calum lets out a moan.

“Don’t  _ do _ that,” he hisses. (He’s not. He’s not  _ not _ having a sexuality crisis, here. Well, okay, less of a  _ sexuality crisis _ and more of an  _ omg, we just fucked up the band, omgwhatamIdoing _ . Still.) “What happened last night,” he groans, rolling to his back so he can look up at Luke. Luke, sitting in just a towel, all glistening and damp like one of Calum’s wet dreams. Calum doesn’t make eye contact.

Luke smirks at him. “I think that’s obvious,” he points out.

“I just - how?” 

Which is a purely redundant question, because it’s all starting to come back to him now. Luke, pushing him up against a brick wall behind the hotel and kissing him roughly. Luke’s hands on him, hot and demanding. Luke’s fucking  _ fingers _ pushing inside him, stretching him, pressing insistently until he couldn’t think anymore. Oh, god. Calum groans again, rolls back to his side.

Maybe if he just doesn’t look at Luke. Luke’s saying something to him - he knows this, intellectually - but he doesn’t hear it over the thumping of his pulse in his ears. And then Luke’s pushing him onto his back roughly. The world zooms back into focus suddenly. “Calum,” Luke huffs. “Stop being  _ difficult _ ,” and he’s got a damp washcloth, rubbing it between Calum’s thighs a little rougher than he needs to. 

It’s a kind of exquisite torture, this, Luke’s hands and the cotton washcloth on his thighs, and he tries not to squirm as Luke touches his soft cock. They make eye contact and it feels like all the breath has been sucked out of him again, because Luke’s looking at him like that, and there’s nowhere for him to hide. A small, desperate noise escapes his throat. Luke palms him, open-handed, and it’s all Calum can do not to cum on the spot. “Luke,” he breathes. The towel’s slipping down Luke’s hip. Calum doesn’t think about how much he wants to press his fingers into that spot, how much he wants to put his hands in Luke’s damp hair. 

“Hey,” Luke says, swinging one leg over Calum to straddle his thighs. “Are we okay?” 

And Luke probably thinks he’s being difficult, evasive, but the honest truth is that it’s hard to even think sometimes when Luke’s around him. Calum comes off as a dick, a lot, and he  _ is _ a dick sometimes. He’s just - he doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to make sense of his feelings. Plus there’s the not insignificant fact that if he talks about his stupid fucking  _ feelings _ it’ll ruin the band and everything they’ve worked so hard for. “I,” he starts to say. Hard to think when he can smell Luke’s shampoo, the dampness of his skin. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, trying to think of something to say. 

He  _ wants _ to say something. He thinks he tries to, but then Luke is kissing him, pressing him to the mattress. They stay like that, Luke’s thighs bracketing Calum in on either side, kissing, until Calum’s erection is insistent, pinned between them. “Calum,” Luke says against his neck. Sighs, grinds his hips into Calum in the most deliciously frustrating way. 

Calum tries to remember how to breathe, trails his fingers over the dimpled pink scars on Luke’s chest. Luke freezes, pulls back. “Sorry,” Calum says. “I didn’t mean…” and the moment, just like that, shatters. 

“No,” Luke sighs, “I want to, I just wasn’t expecting…” Calum can tell that he’s touched on something sensitive, volatile, so he drops his hands by his sides. Luke sits up, still on top of him. And Calum’s still rock-hard, has been for a while. Luke clears his throat, ducks his head a little. “I haven’t exactly… been with anyone,” he says quietly, pinching a thin line of scar between his thumb and forefinger self-consciously. “Since.”

Calum thinks, fuzzily,  _ I haven’t been with anyone since I fucking met you _ . It’s not that he’d been, like,  _ waiting _ . It’s just that no one else exists to him when all he can fucking see in a room is Luke. He doesn’t say this. “Lucas,” he says. “I don’t  _ care _ .” The towel, long-forgotten, is the only thing between his cock and Luke’s skin. And he doesn’t mean that he doesn’t  _ care _ \- he does, like, a lot more than he’d ever be willing to admit. 

“... Oh.”

“Shut up,” Calum says. “I just mean, like, I don’t  _ care _ that you’re trans. Or. I mean, I  _ care _ , just not like  _ that _ .” Internally, Calum feels a bit flaily and ineffective. He’s not communicating this well, he thinks. Because he does  _ care _ \- like, deeply - about Luke’s happiness, but Luke’s transness is not something that’s ever affected the way he feels. He rubs one hand over Luke’s bicep carefully. “Oh my god,” he says, “I mean, I want you to be  _ happy _ . I just - it’s not, it doesn’t change the way I  _ feel _ .”

“Shut up,” Luke whispers, kissing him fiercely. “Shut up,” he says against Calum’s mouth. His hips rock against Calum’s; they lay like that, kissing roughly and fucking against each other, until Luke goes slack on top of Calum when he comes. 

Calum still hasn’t, but that’s - whatever. This is better than a thousand wet dreams, he thinks. When Luke’s come down from his orgasm, he lays beside Calum, shoves the towel aside. “Hi,” Calum breathes, skin prickly and overstimulated where Luke’s rubbing circles into his hip. 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ , Calum,” Luke tells him. His lips are slightly puffy and kiss-stung, cheeks and chin rubbed pink by Calum’s stubble. Now that his hair’s dried it’s standing up in little peaks. It’s entirely possible that Calum might cum just from  _ looking at him _ , at this point. Luke wraps his hand around Calum, stroking him roughly. The touch is punctuated by little kisses to the corner of his mouth, shoulder, neck. “You sound like a fuckin’ pornstar,” Luke laughs against his skin. 

“I can’t  _ help it _ ,” Calum moans, then hisses and fucks his hips up into Luke’s hand. Luke is a tease, jerking him hard and then backing off, teasing his head delicately, dipping down to stroke his balls. “ _ Please _ ,” Calum begs, digs his nails into Luke’s shoulder. He delights in the surprised gasp that elicits from Luke; this moment is going to live in Calum’s head for a thousand years. Luke’s grip tightens, stroking him fast and hard until he comes, moaning against Luke’s mouth. “Jesus,” Calum says when he catches his breath. They’re still tangled up in each other, Luke stroking his sensitized cock as it softens and looking at him like…  _ something _ . 

When Luke pulls away to wipe his fingers in the sheets Calum can see that Luke’s hard, again. Luke catches him looking and presses his thighs together, obviously self-conscious. “It’s alright,” Luke says, face and chest flushed. “You don’t have to-” and Calum cuts him off, pressing their mouths together like he needs Luke to breathe. 

“I want to,” Calum mumbles against Luke’s lips, scraping his nails over Luke’s hip idly. Luke’s cock is small and hard, standing proud against the blonde tuft of his pubic hair. They kiss some more, messily, and Calum rubs Luke’s cock until his fingers are slick with Luke’s arousal. “I want to taste you,” he tells Luke, whose eyes go wide. 

“Yeah,” Luke goes. “Please.”

“Sit up,” Calum says, shoving Luke a bit until he’s leaning with his back against the headboard. He supports himself on his forearms, using one hand to hold Luke’s hip down and the other to balance. (And, okay, this is  _ officially _ the hottest thing he’s ever done.) The noise that Luke makes when Calum’s tongue glides over his cock is fucking  _ obscene _ . Calum likes to think he’s good at giving head, likes doing it. Luke’s fingers twist in his hair, pulling him in, and Calum laughs a little on Luke’s cock, like, not in a mean way but a  _ this is ridiculously fucking hot, I can't believe I get to do this _ way. 

Calum’s chin is damp with Luke’s wetness when he comes, twitching against Calum’s mouth. “ _ Fuck _ , Calum,” he moans. Pleased with himself, Calum sits up and - before he loses the afterglow - kisses Luke again, not caring that he has Luke’s cum on his face. “What the fuck,” Luke says when they finally come up for air, then, “Oh, fuck, I need to pee.”

Calum laughs a little. “Go,” he says, swinging his legs off the bed to look for his clothes. He finds both of their clothes kicked off carelessly by the door, tossed on a chair, over a lamp. It occurs to him, then, that none of their other stuff is there. He stands in the doorway to the bathroom, waiting for Luke to finish pissing. “So,” he says, “This isn’t our room.”

Luke pales a little. “Fuck,” he says. “So I guess we should… go.” They get dressed more quickly than Calum would’ve liked to. And they don’t talk about it when they leave, just stand in the elevator next to each other with their arms not quite touching. In the mirror, he can see Luke touching at his mouth, tugging his bottom lip between his fingers. Calum does not think about kissing him again. 

(He is officially freaking out, okay, because what does this even  _ mean _ . He can’t stop thinking about Luke’s hands and mouth and, like, he is so fucked.)


	2. Chapter 2

They don’t talk about it.

Calum feels uneasy. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to act like he’s not completely falling apart now. Every time Luke looks at him he can’t breathe. They’re in the back of the van with not enough legroom, Luke’s legs sprawled over him. He doesn’t know what to do with his arms, so he leans against the window and pretends to sleep. He’s pretty sure Luke’s pretending to be asleep, too, so they don’t have to talk about it. They’ve been avoiding each other the whole way from LA to now. Eventually Calum  _ does _ fall asleep, but even then it’s restless and uncomfortable. 

When they stop for gas, the first thing he wants is a piss. The rest stop bathroom smells like old shit and used condoms; he goes as quick as he can and tries not to think about the flickering fluorescent light that’s making him feel like he’s about to be murdered. Luke’s leaning against the back of their trailer, smoking, when he comes out. “Hey,” Luke says.

“Hi,” Calum says back. He watches Luke finish his cigarette. He feels like he should say something, only he doesn’t know what. It’s cold and he wants to shove his hands inside Luke’s hoodie. (Which he definitely should not do. That’s definitely a boyfriend thing, and he doesn’t think. It’s not like that.)

“You cold?” Luke asks, shrugging out of his hoodie and offering it to Calum. Now he’s just in a t-shirt and flannel; Calum swallows hard, trying not to think about Luke’s shoulders or his mouth or how distinctly fucking boyfriend-ish wearing Luke’s sweater is. It’s warm, a little baggy, and smells like Luke and cigarettes. 

“Thanks,” Calum says, looking at his feet. (Do not think about kissing Luke. Do not think about how easy it would be when he’s, like, right there and Calum’s wearing his sweater and it’s late and he’s a little stupid about him.) And Calum’s about to say that they  _ should _ talk about it when Luke kisses him, tugging him closer by the belt loops. “Mmmf,” he tries to say. Luke’s beard is coarse and prickly under his fingertips; he lets out an uncharacteristic squeak when Luke squeezes his ass and just. Leaves his hand there like it  _ belongs  _ there. Calum holds onto Luke’s shirt and kisses him back. 

(Wow. Real smooth, Calum.)

“So,” Luke says, finally. Calum’s still holding his waist. “What is this?”

Calum bites his lip and doesn’t say what he’s actually thinking, which is something along the lines of  _ holyfuckI’mcrazyaboutyou _ . “Dunno,” he answers, stroking Luke’s cheek stubble fondly. Fuck him and his incredible bone structure, seriously. “I like this,” Calum admits, shifting weight between his feet awkwardly. 

“Okay,” Luke says quietly. “Okay.” He turns his head and kisses Calum’s knuckles, biting down lightly on his thumb before sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. It’s ridiculously fucking hot, Calum thinks, and his knees feel weak as Luke drags him into another kiss, crowding him up against side of their trailer. He’s vaguely aware that anyone could walk out and see them like this, making out in a sketchy rest stop parking lot off the interstate. And  _ that _ thought digs a pit in Calum’s stomach, because - what are they doing? They can’t just… not tell Michael. But, also, they can’t really  _ tell _ him anything without knowing what this  _ is _ . 

Calum, sometime later, says, “Eventually we need to talk about this,” into Luke’s mouth.

“I know,” Luke agrees, then, “I need another smoke.” Calum tries and fails not to think about Luke’s hands while he’s lighting his smoke. It’s not his fault, okay - and, like, it’s absurd to think that Luke went from looking like he was twelve to… (Okay, so Calum doesn’t want to use the word  _ hunky _ , because it sounds like something a thousand year-old woman would say, but… Yeah, kind of that.) And Luke looks like he’s about to say something, then they both hear Michael stumbling out of the van, the van’s door alarm pinging indifferently behind him into the night. 

“D’you guys want to try and sleep here,” Michael asks, wriggling his way between them to lean against Luke and shove his hands in Calum’s (Luke’s, but not in a boyfriend way, which Calum is decidedly  _ not _ thinking about) hoodie, “or do you think a creepy trucker will try and kidnap Calum ‘cos he has a pretty mouth?”

“Why do you always think it’s going to be me,” Calum grumbles. “Why can’t one of you ever be the kidnap victim?” Plus, he thinks, if any one of them has a pretty mouth, it’s  _ Luke _ . Whose mouth he definitely isn’t looking at, or thinking about, or even - Luke makes this sound in the back of his throat, almost choking on his smoke. “I mean, come on,” Calum continues, daring Luke with his eyes to say something. “Luke is practically the poster child for human trafficking,” and he relishes in the way Luke’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Or maybe  _ no one _ could get kidnapped,” Luke grumps, rolling his eyes and exhaling a short, sharp cloud of smoke.

“Whatever, you guys suck,” Michael says, fidgeting with the van keys, “I’m going to bed. You guys can take your chances out here with the murderous kidnappers.” Neither of them say anything for a minute after Michael slams the door to the van shut. 

There had almost been a moment there, before. Like, Calum hadn’t been expecting Luke to get down on one knee and -  _ what _ , Calum, he scolds himself - anyway, he hadn’t been expecting anything, but maybe there had been, like, one tiny part of him that was  _ hoping _ . He’s still looking at and thinking about Luke’s mouth, trying to muster up the courage to kiss him again. (Okay, so  _ maybe _ Calum is the damsel in this scenario. On account of the whole wanting-to-be-kissed thing.  _ Maybe _ he has some stupid, romantic ideas about his bandmate, who is barely even his  _ friend _ , and yeah, fuck, he knows how stupid that is. He’s seen  _ Behind the Music _ , he knows it’s easy and convenient to have sex with your bandmates and then ruin your  _ entire life _ , so he’s not exactly expecting Luke to declare his undying love or something.)

(Not that he wants that.)

(Or, okay,  _ maybe _ he wants that, but it’s not like he’s going to go around admitting it.)

And Luke’s tugging on his hand, asking him, “You coming?” and Calum realizes he’s done it again. God, he really needs to stop romanticizing his life. It’s stupid to get his hopes up, it’s stupid that he feels this way. It doesn’t stop him from feeling like he’s swallowed a million butterflies when Luke keeps their hands intertwined until they’re climbing into the van. Michael’s splayed over the middle row of seats, somehow dead asleep already, snoring. Calum groans, not wanting to try and sleep in the front passenger seat; it always makes his neck hurt the next day. The back row is full of their shit, piled on the bench and spilling over into the legroom. Luke’s already climbed over it to the back, shoving the plastic totes aside to make room to sleep.

“Alright,” Calum says, mostly to himself, about to close the side door. 

“What’re you doing, c’mon,” Luke asks, head popping over the seats briefly, “I made room for both of us.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Calum’s heart lurches, pounding a hopeful, dizzy beat in his ears. He’s pretty sure that Luke didn’t mean it like  _ that _ . Still, he steps out of his shoes and shoves them in under the front seat, closes the van door, locks it. By the time he crawls into the back, Luke’s already settled in, lying on his back. “Hey,” Calum whispers. “Thanks.” 

He’s too nervous to  _ do anything _ . Why is he so nervous? It’s not like he and Luke haven’t slept together like  _ this _ a hundred times before; it’s not like this is so out of the ordinary. (Except that it kind of is. Calum’s not an expert, but there are probably, like, rules about this kind of thing - or at least  _ expectations _ , which ties his stomach in knots - about sleeping next to someone he kindasorta had sex with. And kindasorta wants to have sex with again. And… now is so not the time to be thinking about Luke  _ naked _ , Calum,  _ whatthefuck _ .) Luke tugs him down onto the makeshift bed impatiently.

“Stop being weird,” Luke yawns.

“I’m not,” Calum protests, but allows Luke to manhandle him into a semi-comfortable position anyway. (Which is not a thing he should be thinking about! Luke’s hands all over him, insistent, touching, holding…) 

Luke kisses him, dry-lipped, and tells him, “You _are_ being weird,” and Calum wonders for a moment if they’re ever going to get around to the talking-about-it part. And then Luke’s fingertips are cold against his jaw, tipping his chin up for a better angle, and all the thoughts fall away because _Luke._ _Kissing him._ A weird little groan forms in Calum’s throat; Luke shushes him. “Be _quiet_ ,” he hisses, then, “Never mind. It's late, we should sleep.” Of course Calum _can’t_ go to sleep after that, and lies awake for longer than he’d like wondering what the fuck that was about. 

Also,  _ he’s _ not being weird. He’s being perfectly normal for someone who has no idea what’s going on, or how Luke feels about him, or what he’s supposed to do,  _ at all _ , since this is the first time he’s ever felt this  _ whatever _ for another guy in anything but the extremely abstract jerking-off way. It had started that way, kind of - and that was fine, Calum knew what to do with that - but then he’d started noticing how smart and cute (and then ludicrously, ridiculously, blisteringly hot) and snarky Luke was, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. What had been innocent and fun at the start - well, okay, as  _ innocent _ and  _ fun _ as jerking off to his own bandmate can be, but at least that had only existed in Calum’s own head and not as something he had to, like,  _ deal with _ \- has become a jumble of feelings so massive and twisted it practically has its own gravitational pull. 

Then there’s the way Luke looks at  _ him _ . That sometimes-smirk, sometimes-amused look when he does something dumb or embarrassing, and half the time Calum expects Luke to give him shit and then he  _ doesn’t _ and Calum’s face still gets red and hot like he had, anyway. Ever since they had sex it’s changed, and he doesn’t know if it’s analytical or appraising or both or neither, and he doesn’t know what to  _ do _ with this. Normally Calum would talk to Michael about this stuff; they’ve been best friends since approximately forever, and despite Michael’s shit track record with his  _ own _ relationships, he sometimes has good advice - but he  _ can’t _ with this. He keeps picturing Michael’s disappointed face and, like, “What the fuck, Calum,” “You’re ruining the band, Calum,” “This isn’t Fleetwood Mac, Calum,” (and, okay, maybe Michael wouldn’t say that last part, but it’s still a concern he has! Everyone and their mom has heard  _ Rumors _ .) 

The worse part of this may be that he can’t talk to any of their other friends about it, either - the last thing he needs is for  _ everyone  _ to know how incompetent at romance he is. Which this is not, probably, and he’s just lying in the dark freaking out about nothing. He knows how romance works; he’s seen plenty of movies with Michael and his sister, and this isn’t how it usually goes. (Not that there are a lot - or  _ any _ \- gay romantic comedies for him to work from.) 

(Okay, so it’s possible that the majority of gay media Calum’s consumed is porn. Which is…  _ not _ extremely helpful in this exact scenario since Luke isn’t a dumb, hot twink trapped at a ski chalet, or a dumb, hot pizza delivery guy trapped at a ski chalet, or… Damn, Calum  _ really _ should branch out in his porn categories, shouldn’t he?)


	3. Chapter 3

There is exactly one person Calum could talk to about all of this if she would ever _pick up the fucking phone_ , he thinks grumpily. It’s barely dawn and he’s using a payphone outside the rest stop bathroom, still wearing Luke’s hoodie. The dial tone drones away, indifferent to his plight, until his sister finally picks up.

“I need your help,” he says bleakly. 

And he can _hear_ the mockery in her voice. “Hey loser,” she says fondly. “What’s up? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

“What? No! No,” he groans.

“Okay… drugs? DUI? Sex tape? Shotgun Vegas wedding?”

“Oh my god, _no_ ,” Calum goes. “Stop _enjoying_ this so much, you fuck.” 

“Come on, you’ve never needed my sisterly advice before,” she says. “At least let me enjoy it a little.” 

“Fine,” Calum scowls. “So, uh…” He’s not entirely sure how to phrase this. _‘Hey, so I slept with Luke, who’s my bandmate and I may or may not be in love with, and I don’t even know if he likes me, and also I want to kiss him a lot, and how do I do this without fucking everything up,’_ doesn’t exactly have the greatest ring to it. (Also, _whatthefuck_ , he’s in love with Luke. Fuck. Fuck.) 

“Okay,” Mali says, “At first this was funny, but now you’re actually starting to freak me out.”

“... I slept with a guy and now I’m having, like, a minor sexuality crisis about it?” Calum’s really glad no one’s around right now to see how _completely fucking embarrassing_ he is. Mali makes her ‘You are dumb and annoying’ noise - she’d perfected it around the time she was in seventh grade and it had become a mainstay of communication between them ever since. 

“I _knew_ I should have made you stay when I had the boy talk with Michael,” she says, like she’s already mentally planning on replacing him as a brother. Calum wants the earth to open just, like, a tiny chasm or portal to hell beneath him, or something, to swallow him so he doesn’t have to deal with this _feeling_. That would be better, actually, than having to talk to his sister about _boys_. She’s enjoying this _so much_. 

“I _hate you_ ,” he says, chewing on the edge of one fingernail anxiously - _“Was it Michael?”_ she asks - and, “ _No, what the fuck, no,_” he hisses. Michael’s basically his brother. This is so embarrassing, what the fuck, he came to her for help and she’s _mocking him_. “Come on,” he whines, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Well - did you like it?”

“Yeah, death would actually be preferable to continuing this conversation,” he says, “No, obviously, I hated it and never want to do it again and _that’s_ why I called you for help. Stop _laughing at me_.” 

He can hear the exact moment Mali puts her serious face on, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, crossing her legs on the couch in their parents’ living room. “Okay, okay. Do you like him?” - “ _Oh my god, Mali, stop_,” he bitches - “Okay, so yes, then - Did you, I don’t know, try _telling him_ that?”

Calum twists the phone cord around his fingers. “I called you for _love advice_ , not advice on how to _ruin my entire life!_ ” 

He can hear it. He can feel her stupid, knowing smirk over the phone. “... _Luke_? Seriously? Does he know?” and Calum hates that his sister can read him so well, sometimes. She correctly interprets his strangled gasp and goes, “Okay, was it _good_?”

“Oh my god, you can _fuck right off_ ,” Calum mumbles. (It’s not like he’s been, like, obsessively thinking about it. Right? He’s thought about other things. Probably. Possibly.) “... Yes,” he admits. 

“Tell him that, dipshit,” Mali says helpfully. “I’ve gotta go; I have class like fifteen minutes ago.” She hangs up on him. The ground does not open up and mercifully swallow Calum, much to his dismay. He finds a decent-sized rock and kicks it, dribbling it between his feet across the parking lot. Kicking stuff usually helps him avoid his feelings. After all, he hadn’t started having planet-sized sexuality crises until _after_ he quit the soccer team to pursue music. (There is a non-insignificant amount of locker room nudity and butt touching in sports, he thinks, for so many sports to be exclusively, rigidly heterosexual.)

(Okay, so he’s also watched a non-insignificant amount of porn that takes place in locker rooms. Not that he, like, _thought about it too hard_ , or - wow, that is super the wrong word to use there - but it’s not like he sat around masturbating and thinking about getting fucked in the showers after practice, or by who, or. Wow, okay. Not like that’s the exact niche genre that exclusively occupied Calum’s mind and fantasies for, like, the first six months they were a band.)


	4. Chapter 4

Luke buys him lip balm when they stop for gas in Tempe, Arizona. 

It shouldn’t even be a thing, but it is. They’re waiting for Michael in the midafternoon sun, Luke in cutoff jeans and sandals and he in a pair of basketball shorts and his soccer camp t-shirt from several years ago. (Should probably get rid of it; he thought it made him look, like, _built_ , but it’s just weirdly revealing and keeps riding up his back and calling attention to his sweat patch that he always gets when the temperature rises.)

(Oh, god, he’s _gross_ \- attractive people don’t have _sweat patches_ , fuck.)

And Luke pulls out a cherry lip balm and gives it to him, like, “Here, I got this for you,” like that’s such a normal thing that non-romantic bandmates who are definitely not into each other, or staring at each other’s lips longingly, or thinking about kissing, to do. Yep. Yep! So definitely normal! Calum has suddenly forgotten whether there’s a normal way to wear lip balm. 

So he says, “Thanks,” and shoves it in his pocket, and tries not to think about what it _means_. 

The silence between them is awkward now. Now he’s super fucking aware of how dry his lips are; it would be weird, though, right? (Calum tries to think of a sexy way to apply lip balm. His lips really are dry.) Finally he just does it, quickly - like, normally, he thinks - and tries not to notice whether or not Luke’s looking at him. Luke tips his head back to catch the weak breeze, looking cool and effortless, and Calum just. _Wants_. 

(He wants to lick Luke’s neck, crowd into him, kiss him, _right now_. Obviously he doesn’t, because he’s not a total fucking weirdo, but then Luke looks back at him. Licks his lips a little. Calum looks away, pretends not to see. There’s a weight to the way Luke looks at him now - or maybe it’s always been there and he’s just _noticing_ it now - and sometimes it feels like he’s gonna spontaneously combust, but nothing happens.)

Luke hooks one finger through the sweatband on Calum’s wrist. Which. It’s not not holding hands. Calum doesn’t move away - he actually doesn’t move at all, standing there still and tense and anxious about the light pressure from the back of Luke’s finger against his wrist. “You’re weirder than usual today,” Luke comments wryly.

“Fuck off, I’m extremely normal,” Calum argues. “I’m super normal.”

Another of Luke’s fingers slips under his wristband. “Definitely,” he says. “You’re first on my list of extremely normal people.” He’s smirking in that way that tells Calum he’s being made fun of. Calum _hates_ that smirk. Kind of wants to kiss that stupid, bemused smirk right off Luke’s stupid, handsome face. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Calum says, twisting the fingers of his other hand in his shirt.

Luke just goes, “I’ll look at you however I want.” It’s hard to tell if he means anything by it though, or if he’s just squinting against the sun, too. Calum squirms a bit. What does that even _mean_ , he wonders. They would already be gone by now if Michael didn’t take _five thousand years_ in the bathroom, he thinks darkly, so really this is Michael’s fault. 

(Although, technically _Luke_ is Michael’s fault, too.)

(Well, no, actually. That part is definitely his and Mali’s fault for trying to be supportive friends. But it’s not like he could’ve expected Michael to go and make out with the first hot guy he found! It’s not like he could’ve known that Luke would _steal_ his best friend when he was all vulnerable and recently non-broken-up-with. It’s not like he could’ve known that the weird, twisty feeling in his gut whenever Luke came up in conversation was _desire_ and not horrible, virulent jealousy. Or that when the weird competitiveness came up for, like, the first year they knew each other, it wasn’t about hating Luke _at all._ )

Calum can’t stop rubbing his lips together. He twists out of Luke’s grip to fumble in his pocket for the lip balm, swiping it quickly across his lips. After he’s already got it in his pocket again, Luke looks at him, goes, “Give me some of that.”

“What, okay,” Calum says, and then Luke kisses it off him before he has time to react. Luke laughs against his mouth, a private joke that Calum’s not quite in on. And then Michael’s honking at them, ready to go after a _literal fucking millenia_. He does something stupid then, just absolutely fucking idiotic. He pulls off his sweatband and gives it to Luke, goes, “Here, have this, or something,” and speedwalks to the van to avoid looking to see what Luke’s reaction is. It’s stupid.

(When he looks later, Luke’s wearing it. He doesn’t know what it means. He gets nothing from Luke - seriously - and now he gets to freak out about this, privately, for forever. So he’s doing great, super normal, not freaking out at all about his bandmate’s mouth or hands or cryptic, amused looks at his expense. Or how to put on lip balm like a normal person. Or how to tell another guy that he wants to kiss him, or how to tell that guy ‘ _Hey, I kind of want you to fuck my ass,_ ’ or whatever. Normal stuff.)


End file.
